I'm Very Militant, You Know, In A

I Certainly Should Have,' He Agrees, Smiling And Thinking What An Absurd And Universally-accepted Bit Of Nonsense It Is, That Your Best Friends Must Necessarily Be The Ones Who Best Understand You. As If There Weren't Far Too Much Understanding In The World Already; Above All, That Understanding Between Lovers, Celebrated In Song And Story, Which Is Actually Such Torture That No Two Of Them Can Bear It Without Frequent Separations Or Fights.

We Must Remember That Nothing In This World Really Belongs To Us. At Best, We Are Merely Borrowers.

Berlin Is A Skeleton Which Aches In The Cold: It Is My Own Skeleton Aching. I Feel In My Bones The Sharp Ache Of The Frost In The Girders Of The Overhead Railway, In The Iron-work Of Balconies, In Bridges, Tramlines, Lamp-standards, Latrines. The Iron Throbs And Shrinks, The Stone And The Bricks Ache Dully, The Plaster Is Numb.

In The Eternal Lazy Morning Of The Pacific, Days Slip Away Into Months, Months Into Years; The Seasons Are Reduced To The Faintest Nuance By The Great Central Fact Of The Sunshine; One Might Pass A Lifetime, It Seems, Between Two Yawns, Lying Bronzed And Naked In The Sand.

Someone Has To Ask You A Question," George Continues Meaningly, "before You Can Answer It. But It's So Seldom You Find Anyone Who'll Ask The Right Questions. Most People Aren't That Much Interested.